You Should Have
by LordxXxofxXxDorkness
Summary: Priestess visits the now empty Hive where Black Hat died, and was reborn. Unknown to her, she's being followed by the very same man she came to mourn.
1. Bury you

The sandy stone beneath her feet is rough and uneven. Small bits of bone protrude from it, remnants of the Hives earlier meals. The sight of them doesn't scare her, though. She's a Priest- her training forbids all but the mildest of interest. The bones are old. They've been there for a while.

_So no new meals, this far out_. She reasons to herself, as she crosses into the main Hive. Either their Queen was dead, or the Vampires had moved their tribe. Either one of those options would make her job harder. With no Queen to give them commands, the soldiers became erratic and unpredictable. But with one, they became a cunning force, one she alone couldn't stand against.

There had to be another reason.

Stale air teases her hair as she steps up to the edge, scuffing one black booted toe against the lip as she gazes down thoughtfully. Nothing but darkness and bat cries spirals up to meet her. The hive, hundreds of stories both tall, and deep- is empty. A silent snarl twists her lovely face at the realization. Empty. Not dead. Dead would mean her job was over, and she could crawl back to the little hovel the City allowed her to keep. Dead meant she could lay down and sleep, grateful in the knowledge that there was one less problem out there waiting for her.

Taking one step back, she launches herself out into the open air. Careful to maintain a distance from the walls, she allows gravity to pull her down. Deeper, ever deeper, into that pit of hell.

Her boots hit hard sandy floor a few long moments later, and she rolls to absorb most of the impact. Once more, she can feel old bones and hard rock ridges digging into her flesh. Dimpling her being almost painfully as she moves over them. Shaking the feeling away, she stands- her hands slipping over the handles of her weapons reassuringly. Nothing can hurt her here, not while she still holds them.

She cracks a glow stick, the eary green light strong enough for her to peer around with ease. The floors are sand, more stone this time, then goo. The walls have a worn feel about them, suggesting that the hive had been built on top of a cave system. The rocks around her looked too natural to be anything else.

And then she finds it. The table.

Sitting proudly in the middle of the floor, the slate platform reeks of old blood. Old human blood. Even from here, she can feel the grace of Priest hood. So this is where they killed him. Ducking her head, she murmurs a soft prayer into the silent air around her. Asking for forgiveness, mainly. It is too late to pray for his Immortal soul- no doubt it has been gone for months now.

"I'm sorry, Priest. I should have been with you, that day. I would have made certain to bring you home." Even if it meant in a body bag. At least he would have been coming home, to be mourned and buried properly.

Pale golden fingers, protected by strips of fabric- as black as the rest of her outfit- smoothed over the dry red rock, gathering flakes of blood. She would store then in a vial, and bring them back with her to the City. He could finally be buried within their sacred walls.

Tucking the small glass tube back into its protective carrier, she turned and walked away. There was nothing more she could do for him, dead that he was. Better to tend to the living, now, and continue to eradicate the scourge of Vampires from the earth.

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><p>He waited until he was certain she was gone, before he moved from the tunnels, and into the fading green light. Scarred, strong hands traced were her fingers had been not ten minutes before. Lifting his head, he watched the tunnel she'd walked into with angry, scornful yellow eyes.<p>

"You should have." He replied accusingly, his rough timber voice deepened with old rage- and new regret.

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><p><em>So this is my first ever Priest Fanfiction...So I thought I'd just throw it out there that I actually have no idea what I'm doing. If you have any suggestions on where this should head, or feel the need to point out mistakes I made- please do so! I love geting feed back.<em>

_As always, Reviews keep me living._


	2. Hard Decisions

_In my heart of hearts, I'd like to believe Black Hat didn't die at the end of the movie. But since this story takes place a few years before the movie, that point is moot. Thank you to Vikingbeauty, OkamiAMBU, GothicFaery94, Night-Weaver-369, Mythstar Black Dragon, Sheila, and RiverGoddess74 for your lovely reviews. I'm glad you enjoyed the story so far._

_And now, on with the story!_

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><p>The scent of rotting flesh, roasting in the sun. Her hand is against her nose before she realises she's even made a reaction. The smell is that strong. Sweat slicked skin is preferable, either way. Turning her hand slightly, she presses her knuckles and the backs of her fingers over her lips to hide the gasp as it tumbles free. The town is in ruins.<p>

No. It's a grave yard without any of the respect usually given. Bodies lay scattered across the dirty walk ways- hanging from windows, leaning on posts. Most of them fell where they had been standing. No warning, then. And no infected. This...massacre had a clear purpose; to feed.

"Fuck." It is the second town in the past four days. No- was. The builds around her are devoid of life. It isn't a town, not any more. No survivors in the first attack, either. But the carnage had been contained to their houses. When she'd first stumbled onto it, she's thought that they'd just abandoned it. It wouldn't have been the first time- with a well drying up, or food scarce, they'd been known to pack up whole sectors and move on.

Then she'd found the first body. It had been a child, no more than five. She'd closed her eyes after murmuring an apologetic prayer.

But this town –Crest- something about it strikes her as different. Some death smells old here, two days at least. But others...they smell new. Like they died a few hours before sunrise, this morning. And the tracks left behind are over run by fresher ones. Dark brows draw together in a fierce frown as she puzzles out the scenarios, discarding many, then settles on the most likely.

She drops down to one knee, the fingers of one hand tracing over the closest clear mark in the dirt. They're traveling in more than one group, each one feeding once, then skipping ahead to cover more ground. It was the only idea that made sense. The first group must have the queen in it- the town, the way they had died, it was too coordinated. Snarling wordlessly, she shoves herself back up to her feet- hands patting the dust from her black robes.

They couldn't have gotten very far, before the sun rose. If she hurries, if she pushes her equipment to its limits, she should be able to kill the second group before dusk. And then she continues on. Even if the second group has a hundred soldiers in it, their deaths will make little difference if the Queen is still alive.

Turning on her heel, she nods firmly to herself. They will die for the Sins they have committed. She'll be certain they suffer long enough to understand that.

Mounting her bike, she allows herself one last look at the town- for motivation. Then she kicks it into gear, and leaves the town at full speed. As her mind fixes over the more detailed parts of her plan, her hand lingers on the small glass vile of her lost comrade. Tightening her fingers, she promised to bring him back.

Once the Queen was dead. Then they could go home together.

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><p>She shouldn't have been there. He'd been dead to them for five long months- why had she come? The church would have declared him an unfortunate casualty. No one was supposed to come back for his body- Priests had always assumed the dead were devoured, or infected.<p>

So why had she been there?

His bare hand traced over the spot she'd touched, his other fist clenched tight against his thigh. The Queen- his Queen, had ordered him to stay behind and kill anyone who entered the Hive. To keep the Church from realizing that there was no longer an enemy in residence for them to pin down and eradicate. And he'd just let her walk out of there, with that oh so crucial information.

Growling in frustration, he snatched off his hand and dragged his hand through his hair. Turning in a small circle, his bright golden eyes leapt over the abandoned cavern. Then memory forced him to dart a look back at the table. Dull grey rock, brushed with dried blood- he could taste it in the air. Both his own, and the slight vampire taint of his Queen.

He should have just grabbed her. Killed her quickly- the only mercy he could offer her. She would never accept being changed like he had, or infected. Servitude didn't sit well with any of the Priesthood, himself included.

Placing his hat back on his head, he traced over the brown tattoo ideally. Following her was the only option. Sighing softly, he grit his teeth and shook his head. He would need to rid himself of this stupid compulsion to protect her. Priestess was his enemy now- he couldn't afford to be distracted by anything.

Even his oldest Comrade.

Growling curses into the open darkness around him, he stormed into the tunnel she'd entered, and went to dig out his old relic of a bike. Although he could cover the distance between then with his own two legs, it would expand more energy then he currently had at his disposal. And it would look suspicious.

"You should have come for me, Priestess. But not now." His words hung in the empty air, shaking the silent walls of their layers of dust. Only the sound of an electric engine scattered them, obliterating the last traces of his humanity. Only the Monster road out into the fading day. It was the only part of him that could be trusted to deal with the problem his fading human nature had allowed to happen.

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><p><em>So...What do you guys think? Reviews are my Life Blood.<em>


	3. Dreaming

_I feel I need to clarify the relationship between Priestess, and Black Hat. They aren't in love, and this story isn't about her going in search of her soul mate. They're friends, very good ones at that. She treats him like her Brother, and he cares for her just a little bit more deeply than one should for a Sister. But that's it- there isn't romance. Thank you to MythStar Black Dragon, Sheila( I plan to go more into their history together, yes.), HHMsaki (Drinking her blood would only make her an infected, Hun.), Night Weaver-369, VikingBeauty (I swear- I'll finish it even if it kills me!), OkamiANBU (There is so much awesome in that review, I don't know what to say to it.), and Inwe[z]247 –I'll try y hardest to watch for that. Thank you again to all of you for taking the time to click that little button on the bottom, and give me such lovely feed back!_

_Now, On with the Story!_

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><p>He recalled nights after strenuous training sessions where they had slept where they'd fallen, in a limb-tangled heap of teenage warriors, too young for the sights they'd seen, but too old to admit to their nightmares. He remembered her habit of snuggling close, of clinging childishly in her sleep. To him. Not, as most had whispered, to Priest.<p>

She'd sought out the comfort of her friend, rather than the recently arrived Stranger she'd fancied. The thought had made him smile, even back then.

She never wore shoes, when she was in practice. Had always preferred to wrap them in cotton strips. He'd never known why. The mystery made her night time habit more endearing, though it was his secret alone to keep. When she curled up against him, delicate hands fisted in the fabric of his shirt, she'd stretch out her legs and hook her toes under the fabric of his pants sleeves- pressing her freezing digits to the warm skin of his ankles.

The first time it had happened, he admitted- he squealed in shock. He could still remember the way her black brows had drown down in a frown, as she'd tried to puzzle out the noise through the thick blanket of sleep. He'd been certain to stay quiet, after that night. Had even gone so far as to practice during the day, with ice against his skin.

Those moments of contact, innocent and sweet, were few and fleeting. Stolen time to be cherished. He hadn't been willing to let a little thing like cold toes prevent him from enjoying it.

Yellow eyes drifted down to the slender form lying peacefully amongst the destroyed bodies of his new comrades. Of the mindless soldiers he was supposed to have been controlling. The carnage is enough to turn his lip. All that damage, caused by one small female. The Queen should have killed the batch of them, if they were so inferior.

It had taken twenty five Vampires to bring him down; she'd killed nearly twice that amount, without even needing the aid of the sun.

She'd clearly had something worth fighting for. Revenge for him? Maybe. The monster within him preened at the thought. Her caring would make the unveiling all the more sweet, with sharp cries of disbelief. He could picture it now, her brown eyes darkening with disbelief as he bit down, sharp teeth slicing through spin and muscle. Oh, no doubt she'd fight- she was a Priest, after all. But she had no way to counteract the poison, no way to protect herself from the infection it would bring. It could take days- but she'd be his.

In the end, they always were.

As he watched, her slender hands grasped at the rocky sand beneath her, fingers tightening on nothing as memory dictated her movements. A soft whimper broke the air, as her brows twitched down- pulling together in an expression of pained torment. Her legs drew up, protecting her stomach as she curled protectively around herself. Her nails, chipped and stained with the blood of his dead soldiers, clenched in the dirt. Blood oozed from cuts- both old and new- as the sharp stones dug into her flesh

"Still have bad dreams, Dove?" He questioned curiously, as he knelt beside her shifting form. She never could sleep alone. With such a perfect memory, she could recall every detail of the fights- ever small sound they made, ever ounce of carefully controlled fear. The shapes, shifting in the darkness just outside of the lines of light glow sticks had created. All perfectly preserved behind her eyes, waiting until she slumbered. Lurking there, until her guard had dropped.

Settling down on the cool ground with a sigh, he looped an arm around her shoulders and tugged her against his chest. One hand, still encased in black leather, smoothed over her hair- his laughter rumbling through his chest as her hands immediately gripped the lapels of his jacket, pulling insistently.

"The more things change," His smile wasn't kind. All flashings of fang, and hard cold eyes. Only humans were foolish enough to assume a smile was anything else then an aggressive bearing of teeth. "the more they stay the same. Don't get comfortable, sunshine. You'll hate me for this, come morn'in." And he was fine with that. He was still a monster, his soul blackened and tarnished with the sins he'd committed.

Cuddling couldn't change that fact.

He sighed again as she shifted against him, tightening his protective hold as she buried her nose against the skin of his collar bone- breathing him in, no doubt. Yet another comfort she'd taken from him.

Lifting his hat from its uncomfortable pent position beneath his head, he dropped it down over his eyes- leaving pale yellow orbs to watch from the shadows. He'd give her a few hours, until realization drew her from her dreams. Then the fun could begin. Settling back, he closed his eyes, and slept.

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><p>Priestess can feel hands holding her, a familiar feeling of safety surrounding her as she breaths in a scent that reminds her...of what? History? Of a past she can no longer remember, too lost in the battles of the war. Some small spark of hope, a stolen moment between pre-dawn, and the rising of the sun. Home. It doesn't exist anymore, not in the sense most people use. Her home has been destroyed, many years ago.<p>

It represents a feeling she can no longer explain. Like having a hundred hands holding her up, with the security that she will never fall. That the monsters trapped in her mind can't reach her, while that feeling is there. But she hasn't felt that way in half a year. Why?

Her hand moves, fingers slowly unfurling from their clutched, clenched position. Her palm smoothes over the fabric beneath her, feeling the familiar swell of muscle beneath it. She ideally traces patterns there, as she tries to remember why the feelings went missing in the first place. His rumble, content and amused, only confuses her more.

Stretching out her legs, she realises that she's sprawled across him, her giving curves pressed against hi harder muscles- not tucked up against his side. _Incorrect_, her mind tells her. _Wrong. Not right_. Her hand trails up, ghosting over the column of his neck, before she feels the prickle of his jaw beneath her fingers. Familiar, again. The backs of her hand smooth down the rough hairs, his breath whispering over her skin as she passes his lips. His hand is against the small of her back, restlessly tightening as she explores him.

There it is again. That tickle; that silent warning.

Her eyes are still closed, but she can feel the trickle of Dawn against her lids. Turning her face, she presses it against the leather, her nose finding the skin of his neck as she breaths him in.

"Priest?" She finally questions, a small frown in her voice.

"Yeah, Dove?" That familiar voice. Roughened whiskey, coloured by his country drawl. Her Mother had always called those kinds of voices Lazy Sundays. She loved hearing it, she remembers. It had inspired the same feelings that the word 'Home' had. But something had happened...She squeezes her eyes shut, fighting off the lethargic urge to just curl up against the man, and go back to sleep. There's something about him. Something important, it hovers on the edge of her memory. But what?

"...Is this a dream?" She asks quietly, her throat going dry with sudden dread. She remembers now. Why the feelings went away. How could she forget? Something that important, it's never slipped away before.

"Hm? Why'd you ask?" The form beneath her is still relaxed, but the weight of his hands on her back is no longer a gentle reminder of safety. It instead inspires a fear of being trapped.

She swallows thickly before she answers, finally lifting her head and opening her eyes. His face is the same, though his eyes have changed. The cheerful hazel colour is gone, replaced by burning gold. The light of dawn paints him with shadows, as he stares back. Waiting.

"Because, Priest, you died five months ago."

His chuckle sends cold fingers of dread up her spine. "So I did, love. So I did."

Hard rock digs into her back as their positions are reversed. Then there is pain. Only pain, as her shoulder erupts in fire. The blade is buried deeply, long enough to go straight through, and cut into the dirt. Her scream of pain hides whatever else he says, the words lost in the volume of it. He twists the handle, and her vision wavers.

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><p><em>So, what'cha think? Cliff hanger evil enough for you? Reviews keep me going.<em>


	4. Wishful Thinking

_Heh. Don't hate me, people- but this isn't the fight scene you were expecting. No, I've decided that can come next chapter- you know, to spice things up. But you do get a sexy half naked and brooding Black Hat. Can I get a booyah?_

_Sheila: Get an account, Girl! Thank you so much for the wonderful compliment- I'm trying very hard and I'm glad the effort is working. Yes, yes- I know. Cliffies= No. But they're so much fun to write! If you liked the hints of longing before, then you're going to enjoy the blatant want he's got going on now._

_As always, thank you all so much for all of the reviews! Now, on with the story!_

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><p>She looked so fragile, laying there in the bed. Her small form was swaddled in bandages, the stained cotton strips safely hidden from his sight beneath a thick quilt. It was a patchwork of old fabric, well used and loved. The couple that ran the Inn had been more than willing to part with it once they had realised it would be going to a Priestess.<p>

Sheep. The whole lot of them.

He snorted softly and shifted, gingerly resting his weight against the mattress. As he sat, the old spring filled devil groaned and dipped deeply- upsetting the small woman lying in the middle of it. She twisted about in her sleep, moaning lowly at the sudden movement. He knew it had jarred many of her injuries- he could smell the sharp copper tang of new blood stirring in the heavy air of the room.

He'd known she'd fight back. He really hadn't expected anything less from a Warrior of her stature and success. But the ferocity of her attacks had caught him completely off guard. Many cuts and bruises now marred his skin- many matching her own, though less severe. His healing abilities had kicked in shortly after the fight had begun.

Blunt, strong fingers brushed over her still cheek. Burning golden orbs narrowed thoughtfully as she nuzzled against the touch, heedless of the large purple bruise spreading across one delicate and regal cheek bone. A mark he'd put there in retaliation to the bloody scratches she'd ripped into the skin of hiss temple.

"So strong," He rumbled softly, his whiskey voice shivering through the thick air of their little rented room. "but so easily angered. You have to work on that, Dove. Almost made it too easy for me." Laughter filled the small space a moment later as her teeth clicked sharply together, a near miss for his unguarded fingers. Even unconscious, she was still trying.

Tenacious woman. Infuriating female. Unwelcome temptation.

Everything he'd worked for over the last five months had been put in jeopardy the moment she had appeared, and he'd failed to kill her. His Queen had worried about something similar happening. She had told him pointedly to kill any clergymen, should they appear outside of the Hive. Yet, here he was. Taking care of one of them. Guarding her while she slept, and recovered. From wounds he'd given her, no less.

Growling a curse, he stood and strode across the room to the single window, his powerful hands clutching at the worn wooden frame. Beneath his fingers, the ancient pine began to creek in protest. Splinters bit into his hands, littering his skin with small ruby dots of blood. They smudged across the silver panes as he moved, leaning his shoulder against the wall, instead. His Monster had been sated by her unconscious bleeding form, but the smidgen of humanity he still possessed had been horrified at the damage he'd done to her.

Yet, still he knew she would survive it. Easily, even. Priests weren't entirely human, after all. They moved too quickly, were too strong, and though more like the beasts they hunted then the whimpering, pathetic beings they protected. The Cities had decided long before the war had been fought by them, that anyone who could go up against the Vampire scourge and survive with their mind intact- not once, but continuously!- could never again be trusted.

Such a pity. He knew first hand just how loyal they were to the Church, how dedicated they were to the people they protected. They were no longer the children who had been taken. Upon their very first battle, they had _become _the job assigned to them. Monster Hunters. The Lords Slayers. Humanities best Weapon.

Call them what you would, it didn't matter. No longer human, they were considered beneath everyone. Shunned for a job they had been conditioned to survive doing.

Drawing in a deep breath, he savoured her sweet cinnamon scent. Had she always smelled so lovely before? Turning slowly, he crossed his arms over his bare bandaged chest, and tipped his head to the side. Watched her breath, slumbering in the safety of sunlight. Longed to cross the distance between them and climb beneath the covers, to pull her close and fall asleep beside the woman he loved with an unhealthy passion.

Her hair was out of its braid- undone sometime in the middle of their battle, to lay free around her. It lay scattered around her on the pillow, matted with sweat, blood, and dirt. He could recall perfectly how it had floated about her face like sinister smoke as she's struck blow after blow against him, her beautiful face hardened by determination.

He wanted to possess her. To keep her rage, her sadness, and her adoration all to himself. Force the memories of anyone but himself from her mind, to turn her against Isaac. To force her to love him back.

The mattress dipped again beneath his weight as he knelt beside her. He hadn't even realised he'd moved, until it was too late.

The glow from his eyes had intensified- to the point where it rivalled the pure honey light spilling through the window behind him. The rays warmed his tanned back as they traveled over him, lazily rolling down to splash over the Priestess. The unhealthy pale colour of her skin was replaced by the sweet, soft gold of sun kissed worship.

Unlike the other injured clergymen he'd seen, she looked strong and resilient as she lay in the middle of a bed far too big for just her- as though the sun had solidified her resolve, even in her dreams. He had never understood where she'd drawn her strength from, even when they had been children.

Leaning down, he placed a sweet, soft kiss on her cut lips- whispering apologies. When she moved to settled against the warm presence, her blindly groping had fell on empty sheets. Across the room, the door clicked shut.

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><p><em>XD This doesn't count as a Cliffy, right...? As always, my Sweeties, your reviews keep me among the living.<em>


	5. Come to Blows

_I am so sorry this took so long! I've been trying for weeks to get it out of my head, but it just wouldn't come. So I tried changing the point of view. Hope you guys enjoy a rare look into their heads ^^ I offer something naked in the next chapter as an apology for my lousy ability to kick things out in a timely manner._

_I promise the next chapter will be up much sooner._

_Quick love note to both **The Lady Talla-Doe**, and **Zuvios Gemini** for being such awesome people and not killing me when I kept getting stuck._

_Talli, you cookie theif, you owe me an update!  
><em>

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><p>My shoulder erupted with fire, the pain singing in my veins like the Devil's own deep tenor. And while I screamed out in surprise and hurt, that look crawled into his eyes. Alien and predatory. Satisfaction was the closest word I could think of- but it still didn't fit. Nothing in our language could describe it properly.<p>

Then he twisted the blade again, and my vision danced with small black dots. Letting out a groan, I felt myself go limb beneath him- too dazed to try to overcome the shock. The situation wasn't one I was familiar with; usually, I was the predatory one.

I didn't like the feeling very much.

My hands moved on their own, planting themselves firmly against his shoulders. Bracing myself for the pain, I lifted my legs and drove the hard heels of my feet into his stomach. The blow had enough power behind it to lift him completely off of his own feet, sending him a good dozen feet away. The blade stayed stuck in my flesh, jarring painfully as his grasping fingers tried to take it with them.

My breath came in short, halted gasps as I climbed to my feet. Dust, stirred from our movements, swirled dramatically around me. With shaking hands, I reached up and pulled the blade out- my eyes tightly shut, teeth biting into my lower lip. I couldn't prevent the moan from escaping this time.

His answering groan sounded from among the small outcrop of rocks to my left. The responding blow, however, came from behind me. A hard hit to the small of my back had me back on the ground, rolling away from his follow up kick. My braid caught in the tangles of dried weeds as I darted to my feet- yanking the tie out painfully.

As he dove for me again, I brought my hands up quickly, slamming them both against his chest. The dagger, still wet from my blood, skipped across his coat before burying itself in the thick muscles of his shoulder. The wound was a mirror image of the one he'd just given me. The savageness inside of me, the inhuman nature that makes me ideal for Priesthood, finally wakes up, giving a leisurely yawn and shake before washing over me.

Suddenly I'm smiling.

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><p>She's beautiful, standing there, ready to attack. The wind's picked up around us, and her hair is loose for once. It rides the currents like an angry nimbus cloud, pooling around her face in such a way that is anything but gentle.<p>

I wouldn't have loved her so much if she were only a gentle being. It is the fierce woman that I crave. The beast within her that has always called to me. An inner fire burns in all of us, lighting us up from the inside. It is that small thing that brings us closer to the Vampires, as opposed to the weak willed humans. The primal urge to fight and defend, rather than run away.

It's always burned the brightest in her.

The smile I give her in return is taunting, and challenging. She's on me in a moment, body flowing from one spot to the next, marking me with my own blood, claiming my life as her own to torment. She's the most beautiful, I find, when she's embraced her beast.

When she can kill me without feeling any remorse.

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><p>My nails score his flesh, leaving ruby lines. We've both discarded our weapons now, fighting with just our bodies. It is easier; though his strength is far superior to my own, I am quicker than him- leaving small marks with each pass I make. Marks that will continue to deplete his strength, his stamina, slowly. When he falls, he won't expect it.<p>

I feel his fist connect with my chin, and the aching burn as my own teeth bite through my lip. Snarling wordlessly at him, I spit my blood on his lips, and use the vivid crimson mark as a target for my own fist. His tongue darts out after I hit him, a sadistic grin splitting his face as he licks away the smudged remains of my fluids. I shudder, inside, and try not to let my disgust show.

He sees it anyway.

Hurt enters his pure, honey gaze. Then anger burns there, greater than anything I've seen yet. A volcano could have burned less than his spitting orbs. The next thing I realise is that he might really kill me. His hurt is great enough, that he would do it without though. Lost in a hurricane of emotion, he would murder me here- in the dust of what used to be a great city. I withdraw immediately, turning to run for the rocky bluffs not far from our body riddled fighting arena.

As I move, I draw out my small cross blades. Despite my attachment to my own personal holy weapon, I know it will have no effect against him. Distance can be covered quickly, and his own weapon was too similar to mine for him to fall for my little tricks, complicated swings, and calculations. I plant my feet firmly on the first small rising stones, and twist my body around as my momentum carries me over the larger stones pillars. As I drop beneath the protective shadows, my wrists flick once, twice, three times- and the cross blades are away, slicing silently through the air. I see three of the six connect before my vision is filled with the sand colour of the wind and water shaped columns.

His howl of rage fills all my senses. Part of me revels in his anger- knowing that I created such a senseless beast- while another bit, probably the last of my humanity, withdraws from sight; hiding in the recesses of my mind. It quivers in fear at what my brother has become; at what I've turned him into. I shrug those thoughts away as I climb to my feet, not bothering to brush off the sand clinging to my shredded black uniform. Those thoughts, and the images they produce, can only hinder my escape now. There is no place for guilt in war.

I pick up speed as I hear him crash into the stony ground after me, my feet all but flying as I race towards the cavernous mountain side no more than a hundred metres from my present position. Gasping, painful breaths burst from my chest as I run, the blood from my wounds soaking my clothes to my skin. My head is pounding, dizziness making it hard to focus on my goal. But I'm determined.

If I'm to die, my last stand will be in those caves. I will not cower from his rage; instead, I will meet it face on- unleashing my own beast to fight him. But to do that, I need the cool comfort of the stone.

In a cave, he will have nowhere to hide from me.

With that thought in mind, I push myself a little harder; stretching out my legs to their longest, fullest stride. Pain washes over me in long, leisurely waves now, and the pounding in my head has become as constant as a beating drum.

I stretch out my arm, my fingers just brushing stone. Then I feel impact, hard against my side. The tackle throws me into the sand beside the stones, the small gritty rocks tearing through my skin as though it were paper. I thrash in his hold, tossing my head and flailing my limbs. Behind me, I hear something crunch. His snarl fills the air around us. It's muffled somehow, distorted by something. I've broken his nose, I realise, slightly giddy. It isn't the killing blow I'd hoped for- but it will do. My defiance is evident in my struggles, and the Church will know I fought to the bitter end.

Then his hand closes around my throat, cutting off my breath. I struggle weakly, but cannot break his hold. Within a minute, the world dims around me, and I know no more.

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><p><strong><em>THE END.<em>**

_AAAAARGH!- cringes and hides from angry kicks- I kid, I kid! Review if you hate/love me._


	6. Fist Full of Words

_Words can't describe how sorry I am for this being so late...again. But it will be worth the wait. This chapter...well, it's one of the reasons the story's rated M now.- cackles, rubbing her hands together evilly- Yessss. Bring on the naked~! I'd like to thank __**Zuvios Gemini **__for allowing me to use her character's name, as well as helping me with Priestess's full name, and once more apologize for taking so damned long to finish this one. If you haven't already read her story __**Golden Eyed Personal Jesus**__, go read that shit. Seriously. Gem's writing makes the characters feel so real._

_Yamiik, your review was the thing that got me up off my ass to finish the chapter. So thank you ^^_

_Enjoy!_

As her eyes slowly opened at the breaking of the new dawn, her fingers reached compulsively for the small glass vile tucked into her shirt. They froze in place when nothing but air and the rough fabric of the quilt met their curious probing. Shooting up straight, she gasped in pain and doubled over as her shoulder and ribs spiked and pulsed boiling hot, aching waves of pain down her side.

He watched passively from the doorway as she sagged down onto her side, panting. He could smell the sweat of her skin, the small dots of fresh blood on her dirty bandages, and her; always her. Her cinnamon scent permeated the room, stirring the air with its sweet exotic nature. Tempting him. _Tormenting_ him. He'd returned and fled from the room several times during the course of the last day and a half; all because the wholesome, infectious sense of _her_ had sunk into ever board of the small room, every stitch of the blankets – even the thick worn leather of his coat.

His liquid golden eyes burned into the naked skin of her back as he watched her in utter silence, listening to each shaky breath she drew. Slender shoulders quaked and trembled beneath his gaze, goose bumps rippling across her soft caramel skin as she became aware of his presence in the room.

Brushing her dirty hair back from her fathomless black eyes, she glared accusingly at him. Her hands, which had lay restless on top of the sheets, now bunched into dangerous fists. He could feel her expanding her awareness to the room around her, taking it in without truly removing her attention from him. His interest spiked in response and he leaned forward, crossing his arms loosely. A low rumbling laugh worked its way from his chest as he watched her jerk back in surprise at the sudden movement.

"My my, aren't we suspicious. Calm down, Dove – you'll end up hurt'ng yourself more if you keep jumping like that." He knew his pupils had dilated to their fullest while he spoke, leaving only a small rim of honeyed gem visible. He couldn't help his reaction; she'd allowed the sheet to slip from her torso when she sat up, exposing her naked stomach and tightly bound chest to his scrutiny. Only the bandage and her plain bra kept her decent.

"You've gathered more scars since I last saw you. Who gave you the belly one?" His voice was soft and gruff as he pointed to the star shaped white mass of scar tissue decorating the left side of her stomach. Her hand slapped over the mark as she glanced, confused, first down, then back at him.

"Vampire guardian beast." She grumbled at last, looking away. " My partner had died earlier that day – I had to deal with the Queen and her guards alone." She shrugged her left shoulder. "One caught me by surprise."

"Sure stupid of you."

"Bite me, Ezekiel."

"_Mmm_. Maybe later."

"What are you, exactly?" She tossed the question out quickly, ruining the sense of normality that had been gathering. Her face was still pulled into a suspicious frown.

"Complicated."

"That isn't what I meant – and you know it. What happened to you on that mission? Isaac said you slipped – "

"He let go." He interrupted tightly. Priestess spoke over him easily, accustomed to his temper. ", and they couldn't find you. We all thought you'd died, Brother. So how come my eyes are telling me that you both live and breathe in front of me?"

He was silent for quite some time, merely watching her with dark, thought clouded eyes. The rim of his large hat cast his gaze into shadows, adding to the mystery already swirling about the man. "I wanted to die, after the things they did to me. I begged for it, for hours and hours. Then _she_ came, and everything changed. _I_ changed. Because of her, I'm something entirely new; something the church can't possibly prepare for. I'm a human Vampire, still with the possession of my soul." He gaze hardened as he spoke, old anger leaking out. Striding across the room, he shoved back his sleeve and thrust his arm into the bright morning light. Turning his head slowly, he watched her through blazing eyes.

"I walk in the sun, and serve only my Queen."

She tried not to let her shock show, schooling her face back to the flat emotionless mask she always wore when she presented herself to the High Council. As surprising as it was to hear him admit it, out loud and with his own unique flare for words—she'd already suspected something similar. Despite the many wonders and horrors that their world held, there were very few things he could have been.

"I should kill you." She whispered, suddenly incredibly tired. "I really should. Burn the name of God into your flesh; tear into you with my Holy weapons until you scream for mercy that will never be given. Kill you with the same wrathful vengeance I reserve for all of the Vampires I come across." Her palms slid over the blanket as she pulled up her knees, curling her arms around them tightly—clutching herself for physical comfort that otherwise couldn't be given. "But I can't. _I just can't._" Her voice broke, then, as the deep huskiness of withheld tears filled it. "Maybe I could, if you looked like a beast—like those mindless things that destroyed those towns. But you don't. You..." She broke off, her fingers pressed against her lips; silencing herself before she displayed any more betraying emotions.

"Look like myself." He finished for her, golden eyes narrowed dangerously. No; calculatingly. That was the look he'd always worn when he was in a scheming, teaching mood. Painful lessons usually followed shortly after it. Her hands abandoned their post as he stalked towards her slowly, running over the blanket as she searched instinctually for a weapon to fend him off with. There weren't any within reach. "So you would rather I be a beast, to avoid the guilt it would make you feel? How very selfish of you. I thought Priests were above such emotions. Think of them, not of yourself—isn't that what we were always told?"

Abandoning her search, she managed to throw herself off the bed just in time. His blow bowed the mattress, but didn't break it; despite his actions, he was still very much in control of his emotions. Dovinity frowned in confusion as she shuffled across the room, staying in a tight crouch, hugging the floor. If he was in perfect control, then why disguise his true actions? His position, the strength of the blow, even his words; all of them had been borrowed from a sparring match they'd had, right before that seemingly fatale mission. Ebony met gold for a moment, as she stared across the space at him.

"What are you playing at, Ezekiel?" The sheet stretched between them, one edge caught on the bed, while her hand secured the other corner. Her free arm curled protectively around her side as it throbbed a distracting protest. She wasn't in any shape to protect herself, not for more than a few minutes, and she certainly was in no mood to beat around the bush. Her hair, still filled with dirt and dead twigs, slipped over her shoulder to wave through the air like a lazy flag as she waited for his answer, still shifting wearily around.

His head titled to one side as he stood slowly, moving into the centre of the bed. "You don't remember the lesson, Dove? And here I was, thinking being spanked would be humiliating enough to lock it in forever." Sighing theatrically, his posture relaxed as he turned his face to regard the ceiling. His hat, already loose, slid from his head—falling to land on the pillows behind him. "How to deal with the situation of a fellow Priest being turned into a familiar: Step one, keep your distance and assess the situation. Step two, disassociate them with the person they once were—because they no longer recognize you as a friend, and will kill you. Step three's pretty simple. In fact, you do it all the time." He faced her then, and she drew in a sharp breath at the sight. His eyes were _glowing_. "Kill them without mercy." Growling the words out, he lunged across the room, moving with at a speed impossible for even her to achieve.

He caught her completely by surprise. Landing hard on her back, her wounds reopened at the same time as the air was forced from her lungs: when his knee drove sharply into her stomach, pushing her down flat against the hard wood floor. Unable to draw even enough breath to gasp, her mouth worked soundlessly as tears of pain slipped down her battered, dirty golden cheeks. Her eyes, wide and unblinking in shock, watched him accusingly from beneath the moving lake of tears.

She wasn't crying. He knew that. The combination of breathlessness and renewed pain had simply made her eyes water. But the sight still clawed at him, conflicting reactions battling to surface on his face. Unwilling to give even an inch of what he'd gained so far, he smoothed over his features with an effort. The lesson wouldn't be learned if he coddled and soothed her. Removing his knee from her gut, he allowed her to turn onto her side and curl up in a tight ball, shaking and gasping. "You need to stop treating me like your friend, Dovinity. Because I'm not; I haven't been for quite some time now."

Her kick caught him square in the crotch. No longer a matching blow to the hit he'd delivered, it was completely unexpected; she'd always considered such moves too obvious for practical application. A strange breathless whine escaped him as he slowly dropped to the floor; his arms too busy clutching himself to prevent his rather painful introduction to the naturally patterned wood.

"Ezekiel Raphael Monclair, how _dare _you take that tone with me!" Though she was still too breathless to speak above a whisper, the snarl on her face more than made up for her lack of volume; it twisted her lovely, though abused, features into something so much more sinister. Her eyes flashed like smouldering black coals, burning through his skin to sear his very soul. The kick had hurt her almost as much as it had him, though; a thin layer of sweat covered her exposed skin, as pain pinched her face, pulling forth a fresh wave of tears. Rolling onto her back, she used her strong legs to push herself away from him, moving until she struck the far wall of the room. He could smell the blood enter the air, as she hoisted herself painfully up, propping her shoulders against the old wall paper. "You haven't killed me yet. So stop acting like you have." She continued calmly, her temper once more under check. "Yes, you hurt me; but we used to do that all the time during sparring. Could have left me to die out there in the desert, as well—"

"No I couldn't have." He broke in, lifting his head only long enough to give her a gimlet glare. "And that's the whole problem. The minute you entered the Hive, I should have killed you. I didn't. I had the chance to slit your throat while you slept in the desert—but I indulged in my new sadistic nature instead. Now you know that the Queen has moved, you've seen the destruction her children have caused in the towns, you've killed a great deal of her soldiers, and you even know about me. All of this, because I made one mistake." He sighed deeply, sitting up. His arms rested loosely over his knees, strong scarred hands clasped together in a mockery of prayer. "Had it been anyone else, I wouldn't have hesitated." He felt a slow smile curve his lips, fangs dimpling his flesh. Ah, but in there lay the problem; it hadn't been just anyone.

It had been _her_.

Even now his duality fought, human and monster, to express itself. Compassion nearly over run by violence. While the need to care for her, to protect her, was winning so far, he couldn't make any promises for future minutes, or for even hours. He knew he didn't have days. "And you know the worst part about this whole situation? The only thing that's crossed over into my new life?" Two long strides took him to within an arm's reach of her. Kneeling down, he reached over and gently tucked a strand of hair back behind her ear, ignoring the way she flinched at his touch. Gold eyes studied her face, suddenly unreadable. "I'm still in love with you."

"But!" He continued, as he transferred his hold seamlessly to her arms. His hands tightened threateningly as she struggled against him, her body dropping closer to the floor in an effort to make whatever he was planning more difficult. Never one to be deterred, he pulled her hard up to her feet, heedless of her already sensitive and bleeding injuries. She swayed against him as pain over ran her senses, nearly collapsing back to the floor in a limp heap. Hooking his right arm neatly around her slim waist, Ezekiel held her firmly against him— trapping her with his touch— while his free hand found her chin. Locking thump and finger securely on either side of her jaw, he forced her to look at him as he purred out his words with sinister satisfaction. "This isn't human love, my sweet Dovinity. No, it's much more primal then all of that mush and drivel those blood sacks living in their polluted Cities rave on about. So much more powerful."

He could see the thoughts churning about in her mind while she processed his unexpected confession, as she tried to puzzle out his words enough to deny him the thorough satisfaction of explaining them himself. Smiling thinly, he waited, endless with patience. She wouldn't be able to figure it out, he knew; it would take another being like him to explain the over-whelming urges that currently compelled him—and no such thing existed as of yet.

Finally, she drew a deep breath and asked the question. "What do you mean?"

His smile turned ferial.

"I have always cared deeply for you, Dove. Too much to be a simple Brother in Arms, like you always thought of me as, but not widely and so innocently enough to be considered the love of a sibling. The church has trained us to never act on our feelings, to forgo any reaction derivated from them—so I never did, and you remained blissfully unaware. Given a sufficient amount of time, and enough lengthy missions to keep us separate, I'm certain the feelings would have faded away. Since that's all Human beings seem capable of doing." His words were far too flatly delivered to feel like much of a confession to the Priestess. But his eyes were bright and keen with interest, his lips curled with sly delight—he was building up, trying to dramatize the effect his words would have. She suppressed a full body shiver as she firmly informed herself that it wasn't working. His fingers curled warmly against her side, drawing goose bumps across her cooler bare skin.

His head dipped sharply as he suddenly moved, shortening the distance between them drastically until each shallow breath he took blew across her lips and tickled at her lashes. She blinked away the blush that threatened to rise, scowling at his handsome features. Undeterred by her evil eye, he continued his explanation."See, the main problem is that I was changed before these feelings could be purged from my system. Now I _know_ you don't know this, Dove, but the blood from the Queen intensifies everything: rage, hate, strength, touch, _taste._ Everything. Love...well, it twists it a little. It's more complicated then obsession, and more fierce then compassion. They have a word for it, but it can't be translated into our language. Basically I would sooner run myself through, rather than let something hurt you in any way."

"But you have hurt me." Dovinity interrupted quickly, motioning with one hand to the red tinged bandages covering her slender body. She watched him suspiciously as his eyes drifted closed, and he drew in a deep breath—drinking in the scent of her, no doubt. Suddenly very aware of his preferred dining choice, the blood began to drain from her face as a barrage of horrible ideas occurred to her. What one species called torture, another could call caring. Swallowing her fear, she steeled her gaze and met his eyes unflinchingly when he finally opened them again.

"Ah. That is different, sweet Dove. I hurt you because you fight against me, because you try to escape from me. And I will continue to hurt you until you come to understand the simple fact of your situation. You are my Conquest, Dovinity Amitiel Ciro. I will possess you at any cost." Eyes wide with dread, she decided reality was far worse than any of her dreamed up nightmares.

His fingers swept slowly through her hair, gently untangling the thick black mane—separating out leafs and branches caught in the normally satin smooth strands. She was pointedly dismissing him, her eyes burning a hole in the wall across from them. But despite her stiff posture and disgruntled expression, she remained in place and allowed him to finish his task in relative peace.

Of course, she wasn't staying willingly; the dresser he'd dragged into the bath room and pressed in front of the door was a better deterrent then even the threat of having to go through him first.

Apparently she just wasn't up to the heavy lifting.

Leaving the pile of debris on the counter beside her discarded bloody bandages, he gave her a gentle push between the shoulder blades—directing her into the steaming shower at the end of the room. "It'll hurt, at first." He cautioned, holding up his hands in surrender when she half turned to give him the stink eye over her shoulder. Flipping her now only muddy and tangled hair back, she caught him in the face with the tail end; the soft rasp echoed through the quiet room.

"I know." She muttered, drawing back the curtain. "But I honestly don't care right now." Stepping in quickly, she yanked the fabric closed behind her. His yellow eyes remained firmly fixed on the spot where she had been.

"Laugh in the face of death and spit in the face of pain? You really haven't changed, Dove." She couldn't see his face, turned as she was to face the nozzle. But she caught his tone easily enough. He watched the goose flesh travel up from her ankles, all the way to the nape of her neck. Later, he knew, she'd deny the shiver that ran up her spine. "But I'd like to see you laugh me off, Priestess."

_Alright, so maybe I fibbed a little bit. But the opening bit will be from her point of view, in the next chapter. Black Hat nekkid butt, anyone?_


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